A History of the Wife by Marilyn Yalom Page B

celebrated throughout the kingdom. I saw in her all that usually seduces lovers and judged that it would be feasible for me to share her bed. I thought I could do this very easily: I had such renown at that time, I was so remarkable for my youth and beauty that I did not fear being rejected by any woman whom I judged worthy of my love.

    A modern reader will undoubtedly be outraged at the thought of this teacher and cleric plotting the seduction of an adolescent. But instead of imposing our own values on the early twelfth century, let us turn to Héloïse’s memories of the same events.

    What king, what philosopher could equal your renown? What coun- try, what town, what city did not simmer with excitement to see you? Who, I ask, did not hurry to admire you when you appeared in pub- lic? . . . What married woman, what unmarried woman did not desire you in your absence, did not burn in your presence? . . . you possessed in particular two gifts that could instantly attract the heart of any woman: you knew how to compose poetry and to sing . . . gifts that were utterly lacking in the other philosophers.

    Abelard was clearly a celebrity, the equivalent of a media star today, capable of drawing oversized crowds and impassioned fans. And despite his attractiveness, he had remained celibate until he became enflamed by his love for Héloïse. In order to gain access to her, he pro- posed to her uncle that he should lodge in the canon’s house in exchange for the private lessons he would give Héloïse.
    Before long Abelard had Héloïse completely in thrall. Not only did
    he approach her with the authority conferred by age, sex, vocation, and fame—he also had the right to chastise her. At that time chastisement was both a verbal and physical affair, allowing Abelard the “opportunity to make her bend more easily through menaces and blows, if seduction failed.” Seduction did not fail. But what Abelard had not anticipated was the mutual nature of their passion, the way he too became intoxi- cated. Both gave themselves to erotic delight with the ardor of first-time lovers.
    Yet there was a downside to sexual pleasure: Abelard’s work as a philosopher and teacher began to suffer. His students began to com- plain of his absentmindedness, and rumors began to circulate. Finally, Héloïse’s uncle could no longer remain blind to the affair that was going on in his very house, and the lovers were obliged to separate.
    Not surprisingly, Héloïse discovered she was pregnant. Abelard decided to send her away to Brittany to his sister, where she spent the rest of her pregnancy. He, however, remained in Paris, and had to con- front Héloïse’s uncle, Fulbert. Clearly this was an affair between men, and between them they decided that Abelard should marry the woman he had “dishonored.” Abelard’s only condition was that the marriage take place secretly, so that his reputation and career would not suffer. Because he was only a cleric who had not been ordained, he could, according to canon law, take a wife, but marriage would prevent him from teaching. Interestingly, Héloïse’s dishonor would be repaired through marriage, whereas his position as a famous cleric would be tar- nished by that same act.
    After the birth of their son, named Astrolabe and left in the care of Abelard’s sister, the lovers returned secretly to Paris. Abelard intended to marry Héloïse, as he had promised her uncle. The only obstacle to this marriage was Héloïse herself.
    True to the prejudices of her age, she believed that philosophy and theology did not belong under the same roof that sheltered wives and babies, or, as Abelard later put it: “What person, absorbed by religious or philosophic meditations, could endure the crying of newborn babies, the songs of their nurses to quiet them, the noisy crowd of ser- vants? What disgust in having to bear the continual filth of little chil- dren!” Both Abelard and Héloïse had clearly internalized the